


Five Times Cordelia Vorkosigan Did Not Slap the Doctor

by sahiya



Series: The Countess and the Doctor [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Crossover, Five Things Format, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia never actually slapped the Doctor - but there were certainly times when she came damn close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Cordelia Vorkosigan Did Not Slap the Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> This is for kerravonsen’s generous donation to Help Japan. Many thanks to [info]fuzzyboo03 for beta reading.

It was nearly the first thing the Doctor said to her, Cordelia remembered later. _Are you the slapping type?_ he’d asked her on that fateful wintry Vorbarr Sultana morning. _Not really_ , she’d replied. It was only after she’d traveled with him for some time that she’d realized precisely why he’d asked her that. If she could go back without punching a hole in the space-time continuum, she thought she’d return to that moment by the river and reply to his question with, _Why, are you the type that inspires people to slap them?_ just to see his face and find out what he’d say.

Cordelia never actually slapped the Doctor - but there were certainly times when she came _damn close._

 **I. The first time, it was because the Doctor was rude.**

To be fair, the Doctor was usually rude, unless he was being charming. The first time he’d set foot in Cordelia’s son’s house, he’d gleefully informed Miles that he had termites. Cordelia had witnessed the Doctor being rude on at least two dozen planets by now, and most of the time he got away with it because he was also, inevitably, brilliant.

Unfortunately, today his brilliance hadn’t been quite enough. They’d landed on Alpha Ventraxi that afternoon; within the hour, the Doctor had declared the entire society to be “Wrong! Completely wrong! Totally and utterly _wrong_!” and gone haring off. By dinnertime, he’d mouthed off to the wrong dictator and gotten himself arrested. Cordelia had been left behind to talk her way into the palace with the psychic paper, all the while cursing the Doctor and his mouth.

Honestly, he was far worse than Miles had ever been.

“Your friend insulted the honor of the Supreme Advocate,” she was told by the official they finally allowed her to see. Cordelia gathered that she was some sort of mid-level counsellor to the Supreme Advocate, who, according to the Doctor, was a lot more supreme and a lot less of an advocate than he should be at this point in the planet’s history.

“Well, he certainly didn’t mean anything by it,” Cordelia said, smiling. “You have such a lovely planet. We came here to sight-see, that’s all. Sometimes the Doctor says things he doesn’t mean. I’m sure we’ve all done that.”

The counsellor looked distinctly unamused. “He implied that the Supreme Advocate does not have the right to rule. That offense is punishable by up to thirty years in prison - or death. It is the prisoner’s decision. Many of them,” she added with a rather unpleasant smile, “choose death.”

“I see,” Cordelia said. Clearly, reason and charm was not going to work here. But that was far from the only method available to her. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a handful of large denomination credit chits. “Well, that is a shame. I was very prepared to post his bail.” Having done a quick scan of the local communications system when she’d gone back to the TARDIS for the psychic paper, she knew quite well that there was no such system on Alpha Ventraxi, but that wasn’t the point. The Shadow Proclamation’s summary of the AV legal system had included the colorful - and helpful - phrase “wasps nest of corruption and bribery.”

Two green spots suddenly appeared along what Cordelia guessed were the official’s cheekbones. “So I see,” she said. She spread the credit chits out across her desk, obviously doing a quick count. “Well, perhaps something might be done after all. Please wait here.”

“Of course,” Cordelia said demurely, and sat back.

Things moved quickly once Cordelia had greased the wheels. Twenty minutes later she was handed the Doctor’s personal affects, including the sonic screwdriver, and shown to a back entrance to the palace. Five minutes after that, two burly Ventraxi guards appeared, more or less carrying the Doctor.

He was still talking.

“No, but you don’t understand, it isn’t supposed to be like this,” he was saying, even as the guards dumped him unceremoniously outside the gate. “You’re supposed to be an artistic, peace-loving democracy, not an archaic dictatorsh -”

Cordelia clamped her hand over the Doctor’s mouth. “Thank you,” she said to the guards. The Doctor made a muffled, protesting noise and Cordelia tightened her grip. “We’ll just be off now.” They turned, silently, and left. Cordelia lifted her hand from the Doctor’s mouth.

He had both the good grace and the sense not to say anything. Cordelia stood with her hands on her hips, regarding him silently and fighting the urge to cuff him upside the head. Finally she sighed and said, “Are you all right?”

The Doctor straightened his tie. Cordelia pointedly did not reach out and attempt to flatten his hair. It wouldn’t work anyway, and he hated when she did things like that. “Yes, thank you. Brilliant job with the rescue by the way, I knew I could count on you. Did you get my sonic?”

“Yes,” she said, handing it over, along with a number of other items, some recognizable and others very much not. “You owe me a nice, calm outing somewhere,” she added, turning to lead the way back to the TARDIS.

“Can’t yet, I’m afraid,” the Doctor said. “This place is wrong.”

“So you’ve said,” Cordelia replied wryly. “Loudly and at length.”

“We can’t leave until I figure out where their timeline diverged,” the Doctor insisted.

“I wasn’t suggesting we should.”

“Then why are we going back to the TARDIS?”

“Because, Doctor,” she said, glancing at him sideways, “back at the TARDIS we can access the internet at nearly any moment of space and time, which will allow you to study local history going back as far as you wish.”

The Doctor was silent, briefly, which Cordelia considered a minor miracle. “So you’re suggesting I _read_ about the local history to determine where things went wrong and then we go and fix it directly.”

“Yes,” she said. She could see the TARDIS in the distance, a very welcome blue speck. Her feet hurt. She wanted a bath and her dinner. “I realize that isn’t nearly as exciting as being rude to the local government and getting tossed in prison, but I think you’ll find it’s rather more efficient.”

“More efficient and a lot less fun,” the Doctor sulked.

Cordelia didn’t bother to suppress her smile. “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m sure we’ll find someone else willing to arrest you for being rude tomorrow.”

 **II. Then there was the time with Jack.**

Jack Harkness was possibly the most attractive person Cordelia had ever met in real life, and she didn’t feel guilty for thinking that because Aral would’ve agreed with her. They ran into him in a bazaar on Bellacosa VI, while the Doctor was looking for TARDIS parts and Cordelia was shopping for scarves for Ekaterin and Alys. The Doctor turned up with him at the rendezvous point; he was already scowling, and when Jack looked at Cordelia, smiled blindingly, and said, “Well, hello there,” the scowl deepened.

“Stop it, Jack,” the Doctor growled.

“Stop what? All I did was say hello, Doctor!”

“You know what I mean. Where are you in your timeline, anyway?” the Doctor asked him. “Shouldn’t you be on Earth?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s been a long time since Earth for me, Doc.”

“Hmm,” the Doctor said, and scanned him with the sonic. He looked at the reading. “So I see. Well, fine then. Cordelia Vorkosigan, this is Captain Jack Harkness. He’s incorrigible. Don’t let it go to your head.”

 _What if I want to let it go to my head?_ Cordelia thought, surprising herself. She caught Jack’s eye and smiled; he raised his eyebrows. Her smile widened. “I think I’d like to see more of Bellacosa, Doctor,” she said. “Care to play tour guide, Jack?”

Jack beamed at her, though Cordelia didn’t miss the slightly wary look he shot the Doctor. “My pleasure.”

The Doctor sputtered. “What about me? I’m a brilliant tour guide, I’ll have you know!”

Cordelia patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you are, dear.”

Two days later, Cordelia let herself back into the TARDIS. Jack - who was, Cordelia had realized with some surprise, slightly afraid of the Doctor - had declined to come with her, though he’d also given her time-space coordinates where she could find him later if she wanted to. She thought she might; Jack had been uncomplicated, uninhibited, and wonderfully creative in bed. He couldn’t compare with the forty years of familiarity and intimacy that she’d had with Aral, of course, but that was really the last thing Cordelia had wanted from him.

The moment the door closed behind her, the Doctor popped up from behind the console. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

She raised her eyebrows. “A luxury hotel on the harbor,” she said. “Don’t tell me the TARDIS couldn’t find me if you wanted her to.”

“That’s not the point!” the Doctor sputtered. “What were you doing in a luxury hotel with _Jack_?”

Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, Doctor. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

He sputtered and raked his hands through his hair. “But - but it’s _Jack_!”

“Yes, and? Doctor,” she went on, not giving him time to regroup, “I do hope that you don’t hold some outdated 21st century notion of appropriate sexual partners or the even more antiquated and frankly patronizing idea that a woman my age should not have any. If you do,” she added, frowning at him, “we are likely to have problems.”

“But it’s _Jack_ ,” the Doctor insisted. “He’s -”

“Gorgeous?” Cordelia supplied wryly. “Considerate and creative and -”

“Stop!” the Doctor yelped, holding his hands up. “I don’t want to know!”

For a nine hundred year old alien, there were times when he was an utter child. Cordelia had to consciously control the urge to smack him. “Then don’t ask,” she said, hands on her hips. “Honestly, Doctor, what is your problem with Jack?”

The Doctor was silent, briefly. Finally he said, “You wouldn’t know this to look at him, but Jack’s wrong. He can’t die - well, he can, but it doesn’t stick. He’s a Fact, a fixed point in space and time. He . . . _itches_.”

Cordelia frowned, watching him. “You’re lying.”

“I am not,” the Doctor said indignantly. “He really is a Fact. Drop an anvil on Jack’s head and he just gets up again.”

“I believe you. But that’s not why you’re upset.” She put her hands behind her back and walked slowly around the console until she was standing right in front of him. “You’re mad because Jack’s in love with you. He’s always been in love with you. You don’t want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him either, not really.”

He stared at her, mouth hanging slightly open. “That’s not true.”

“I think it is,” she said evenly. “Don’t worry, Doctor. It was just sex. He’s still yours, and probably always will be.”

“Always,” the Doctor repeated with a sigh. “Yes. That’s the problem with Jack.”

Cordelia shook her head. “Humans don’t have a corner on that market, do we?”

He looked at her. “What market?”

“The market on _making our lives harder_ and _ignoring the obvious solutions_. How many times, Doctor, have you told me that everyone you love dies or leaves you?”

“Well, I haven’t been counting,” the Doctor said, looking down at the console. He poked a few random buttons. “A fair few, I suppose,” he admitted grudgingly.

“And yet here is a man who can’t die, who would never leave you if you only gave him the opportunity. And you don’t like him because he itches? Doctor.” Cordelia frowned. “You can’t tell me you don’t see the obvious solution here.”

“It’s not that easy,” he muttered at the console.

“Where there’s a will,” Cordelia replied firmly. “Plus,” she added as she turned to go, “take it from me: you’re missing out.”

 **III. And then when the Doctor died.**

The year was 10549, and they were on a planet that looked a lot like Earth, trying to stop a Cybermen invasion. They’d managed to get onto the Cybermen’s ship and disable the psychic relay controlling the planet, but one of them had spotted them as they made their run for the TARDIS.

Now they were sprinting down a corridor, the Doctor just behind her, the pounding of their footsteps and the steady metal _thunk_ of the Cybermen echoing off the walls. The TARDIS was just ahead; Cordelia could feel her key heating up in her pocket. She had it out and clutched in her hand when suddenly there was a _zap_ , a sickening crunch, and a short, bitten off scream. Cordelia turned and saw the Doctor down on the ground, clutching his side, where strange-colored blood was leaking through. A Cyberman stood over him, weapon in hand. Cordelia reached for her stunner.

The Doctor had told her the Cybermen weren’t properly alive, but it seemed they were alive enough to be dropped by stunner blast.

She could hear an alarm going off and whole pack of Cyberman running toward them. She grabbed the Doctor under his arms and hauled him backward the last fifteen feet into the TARDIS, leaving a trail of blood behind them. She’d shot two more Cybermen by the time she got them both inside, and slammed the door just as the third one raised its weapon.

“Emergency protocol five,” the Doctor gasped.

“What?” Cordelia demanded, as a hologram of the Doctor snapped into being by the console.

“Emergency protocol five,” the hologram said. “The TARDIS has detected that the Doctor has sustained a fatal injury. Commencing dematerialization sequence now.” The Time Rotor began moving and Cordelia pitched sideways, just managing not to whack her head on one of the coral struts. _Fatal injury?_

Fatal it might be, but he wasn’t dead yet. She crawled back toward the Doctor, stripped off her jacket, and pressed it over the wound. “Doctor, talk to me.”

“They got me in,” the Doctor’s breath hitched, “in my primary heart. Can’t do anything. It’s okay.”

“It most certainly is _not_ okay,” Cordelia informed him. “Where’s your cryochamber?” If she could get him prepped and into the chamber in time, he’d have a high chance of recovery. His injury wasn’t nearly as bad as Miles’s had been.

“No,” he gasped out gold light, “no cryochamber. It’s starting. Get - get back!” He shoved at her with surprising strength and she fell back just as he _exploded_. Cordelia cringed away, covering her head and neck with her arms and wondering _what in the name of God_ was happening.

Long, terribly long minutes passed before the light faded enough for Cordelia to look at the Doctor again. And when she did, she felt her eyes go wide in shock.

Her Doctor was gone. In his place was a stranger wearing his clothes. He had darker, longer hair and a rather larger chin.

He looked about twelve.

“Ow,” the stranger said, shoving himself upright. He coughed up more golden light and winced, pressing a hand to his forehead. “That one hurt. And was very messy,” he added, looking down at his blood-stained clothing. “At least when you swallow the Time Vortex there’s nothing to clean up afterward.” He looked at Cordelia, “Are you all right? No injuries? You didn’t get caught in the regeneration field, did you?”

Cordelia stared. “Doctor?” It felt like the Doctor, somehow, in some indefinable way. She got the same feeling of vastness from him that she always had from her Doctor. But it was hard to reconcile what she was sensing with what she was seeing.

“In the flesh. Well, the new flesh. Ooh, look at all these fingers!” he added, wriggling them around in front of his eyes. “Oh,” he said, suddenly, managing to sway even while sitting. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Cordelia asked.

“Passing out,” the Doctor said, just before he did precisely that.

Cordelia sighed. Unconscious, he looked even younger. “Nine hundred years old,” she told herself aloud, in a futile attempt to quash any maternal feeling she might have found herself having. “And an idiot.” She looked up at the time rotor. “Could we have a bedroom please?”

A door creaked open on the other side of the console. Cordelia looked down at the Doctor, taking in his torn, blood-stained shirt and slack, pale face. She bent, gripped him under the arms again, and dragged him across the grating toward the door. He was heavier than he looked, but she was in better shape than she had been when she’d left Barrayar. Wrestling him onto the bed was rather more difficult, but she managed it in the end. From there it was just a matter of peeling his ill-fitting clothes off of him and tucking him in with the down comforter the TARDIS thoughtfully provided at the foot of the bed. Then she sat down beside him, with a handviewer and a cup of tea, and waited for him to come round.

The only reason she wasn’t going to kill him, she decided, was that he’d already died.

Hours later, after he had finally woken up, demanded tea and biscuits, and gotten crumbs all over the sheets, the Doctor looked at her and frowned. “I did tell you about regeneration, didn’t I?”

Cordelia closed her eyes. “No, Doctor,” she said calmly. “You didn’t.”

 **IV. And of course, there was Amelia.**

Amelia Pond was eight years old and far too brave for her own good. She reminded Cordelia of Miles at that age, if Miles had been more sensible and less manic. They met her when the TARDIS crash landed in her backyard shed, and by the time they were in her bedroom, examining the crack in her wall, Cordelia could already see a certain look in the Doctor’s eye.

“She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” the Doctor said to Cordelia, once Prisoner Zero was banished back to the Atraxi and the crack in Amelia’s wall was sealed. They were outside by the now-destroyed shed, waiting for the TARDIS to finish rebuilding itself. Amelia had shouted for them not to leave without her and dashed back into the house.

“Doctor, you can’t,” Cordelia said firmly.

The Doctor blinked. “Can’t what?”

“You can’t take an eight-year-old girl traveling with you through time and space. Think about what we do every day. It’s dangerous, very dangerous. Something could happen to her.” _You could get her killed_ , Cordelia very much did not want to say.

“Something could happen to you, too,” the Doctor pointed out, “but you choose to be here. Are you saying Amelia can’t make that choice?”

“I’m saying she’s eight years old. She’s too young to make that choice.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s a rather archaic argument coming from you. Some people would have said you were too old to make that choice.”

That was playing dirty. Cordelia gritted her teeth. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” the Doctor replied, so innocently she could have hit him for it.

“Yes. And,” she added, because that was only the first of many arguments she had against this plan, “even if it weren’t incredibly dangerous, you know how quickly children change at this age. If she’s gone six months or a year, even if you bring her back to this very moment, people will notice.”

The Doctor sniffed. “Her aunt left her all alone in that huge house with a very dangerous crack in her wall. I don’t think she’d notice if Amelia were an inch taller.”

“Well, someone will, Doctor, I promise you. And then Amelia will be alone here with people asking her questions and demanding answers and not believing a word she says.” She remembered all too well how it had felt to have people call her delusional at best and a liar at worst, until she’d questioned her own memories and, eventually, half-drowned her therapist in a fish tank just to get out. It would be worse for Amelia, she suspected, because she was a child and because real psychiatric care was still in its infancy in this century. She shook her head. “Doctor, you can’t. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

“But she’s brilliant,” the Doctor insisted. “She’s mad and impossible and she deserves better than to grow up _here_!”

“She’s eight years old,” Cordelia countered. “She has to grow up somewhere. Is the TARDIS really the place for that?”

“It did for me well enough,” the Doctor muttered.

Cordelia pursed her lips. “That, Doctor, is an argument for another time.”

He glared at her, but there was no heat behind it this time. “Well . . . fine,” he said. “But I can’t just leave her here, that would be cruel. But I could - oh _yes_ , that’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that before? AMELIA POND!” he shouted, fit to wake the whole neighborhood. “ARE YOU READY?”

“ _Doctor_ ,” Cordelia hissed.

“Coming!” she called, running down the garden path. She wore a coat now over her pajamas, and had a child-sized suitcase in hand. “I’m ready, I’m ready!”

“Excellent,” the Doctor said, as Amelia skidded to a stop in front of him on the path. “Now, Amelia, I’m going to you a very important question: when is your birthday?”

She blinked at him. “August 31st.”

“Every year?”

She gave him a look. “Yes, of course.”

“There’s no _of course_ about it. I’m a time-traveler, sometimes I skip my birthday for years at a time. But not yours,” he said, crouching down in front of her. “We can only have one adventure tonight, Amelia, because Cordelia is far too sensible for her own good. But I’ll come back every year on August 31st for one more until you’re eighteen years old and then you can decide.”

Amelia’s eyes were wide. “Decide what?”

The Doctor smiled. “Decide if you want to come with me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said. “ _Yes_ , of _course_ yes! But,” she hesitated, “but what if you forget? That’s _ten years_! That’s forever!”

“ _Time machine_ ,” he replied. “Why doesn’t anyone ever remember that it’s a time machine? It won’t be as long for Cordelia and me. I promise you, Amelia Pond, I will come back every year on your birthday until you’re eighteen, and if you haven’t got old and boring and still want to come with me, then you can. Trust me,” he added, smiling. “I’m the Doctor.”

She nodded. “But one adventure tonight?”

“Yes, one adventure tonight. In you go!” he said, and snapped his fingers to open the TARDIS doors. Amelia’s face lit up and she ran inside, suitcase banging against her knees.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow at him. “One perfectly safe adventure,” he assured her. “I am capable, you know.”

“Eleven,” she corrected.

“What?”

“Eleven perfectly safe adventures. One tonight, and one on every birthday until her eighteenth.”

“Right,” he said, “eleven. That’s what I meant. Er.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you could define ‘safe’ for me?”

“DOCTOR! I FOUND THE SWIMMING POOL!” Amelia bellowed, followed by a faint splash.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. She was willing to bet just about anything Amelia had just jumped in the pool with all her clothes on. Well, probably not her coat. “Mad,” she said, shaking her head, “you’re both mad.”

“And you love it!” he said, darting back into the TARDIS and diving for the console. “Good-bye, Leadworth! Next stop: Everywhere!”

 **V. And, finally, there was good-bye.**

Three years. Three years of running for her life, of righting wrongs, of being the first human to ever lay eyes on something. Three years of the sort of mad adventure she thought she’d never have again. Three years of the Doctor in the TARDIS.

They were not the best years of her life. She’d had those already. But they were far better than she had ever expected them to be. Still, one morning she woke up, and she knew - it was time to go home. The ache of Aral’s death had faded to a twinge; her memories of him were more sweet than bitter now, and she could stand to be on Barrayar.

It was early still, though early on the TARDIS was entirely relative. Cordelia padded out to the control room in her bathrobe, carrying a cup of tea for herself and one for the Doctor. She found him, as ever, beneath the beautiful new console that the TARDIS had made for him after he’d regenerated. There was an _zap_ , a shower of sparks, and the Doctor yelped and wrung his hand. “Rude!” he told the ship, and then saw her and smiled. “Good morning, Cordelia. You’re up early.”

She smiled and handed him his tea. “A bit. I wanted to talk to you.”

“That sounds ominous,” the Doctor said. He pulled his black goggles off and came to sit beside her on the steps. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, and reached over to link her fingers with his. “I’m better than fine, I’m -” She looked up through the glass floor at the time rotor, refracted overhead, and said, “These last few years, Doctor, have been amazing. I hardly knew myself when you came and found me, and now I do. For that, I will always be grateful to you.” She squeezed his hand. “But everything ends, even the good things. It’s time for me to go home.”

“Ah,” was all he said.

Cordelia nudged him with her shoulder. “You don’t sound terribly surprised.”

He was silent, briefly. “You start to get a sense of these things after awhile,” he said at last. “Everybody leaves, but I always hope - well, I’m glad yours is going to be one of the good ones. But then, I always thought that’d be the way with you, that you’d choose when to go. You’d hardly have it any other way.”

“Definitely not,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’ll miss you terribly, of course, but I imagine I’ll be seeing the Ponds again before too long.”

“And Jack,” she reminded him. “Please do give him my best - and my space-time coordinates if he wants them.”

He grimaced. “Yes, yes, very well. And I could visit, of course.”

Cordelia smiled at him. “But you won’t.”

“No, probably not,” he agreed. “Better for you to get on with things. Children, grandchildren - there’s nothing better, is there?”

“Nothing in all the universe,” she agreed.

“Well, then!” the Doctor said, and sprang to his feet. “When shall I drop you off?”

“A few weeks after my last visit, please,” she said. She hadn’t visited as often as she’d once intended, especially after the Doctor had regenerated; it would have been more trouble than it was worth to explain. Her last visit had fallen about six months after she’d left. All told, she’d only be gone about half a year by their reckoning.

“Right!” the Doctor said, keying in the coordinates. “Next stop: Barrayar!” He went very still, then, and looked at her, his gaze intense and focused. “Help me fly the old girl one last time?”

“My pleasure,” she said, and pulled the lever to initiate their flight.

It was spring in Vorbarr Sultana when they landed. Cordelia stepped outside the TARDIS and breathed in the smell of Ekaterin’s garden, of reddish brown growing things and the peculiar minerals of Barrayaran soil. Just beyond the sound-dampening wall, she could hear the faint noise of city traffic, but it was possible to ignore it here; the delicate murmur of the brook drowned it out.

“Ah,” the Doctor said, appearing beside her. “Hmm.”

“Ah hmm?” she repeated, glancing at him.

A door slammed. Cordelia looked, startled, toward the house, but there was already a very familiar, very short figure barrelling toward her. Cordelia smiled and hurried down the path to meet Miles halfway - at least, until he stopped dead in front of her, staring.

For a moment, Cordelia wondered if she’d changed so much. Three years was time enough for a few new lines, a few more gray hairs, but she didn’t think she’d changed enough for Miles to look so startled. “Miles?” she finally ventured.

“Ah,” the Doctor said again. “If I may -”

“Quiet, Doctor,” Cordelia said firmly. “Miles, is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Miles said, “it’s just - it’s been so long, I started to think - I thought you might have -” All at once he rushed forward and hugged her. “God, Mother, how did you stand it? How did you stand never know if I was alive or dead or dying or - or I don’t even know what!”

Cordelia frowned. “What do you mean ‘it’s been so long’? How long has it been?” She twisted round to look at the Doctor. “Doctor! _How long has it been?_ ”

“Yes, well, that would be what my _ah hmm_ was regarding,” he said, looking sheepish. “I seem to have missed by -”

“A year and a half,” Miles said. Then, “Wait, that’s the Doctor? He doesn’t look like the Doctor.”

Cordelia and the Doctor both ignored him. “Quite,” the Doctor said awkwardly. “Sorry. Piloting the TARDIS is more of an art than a skill. Hope it didn’t cause too many problems.”

“ _Problems_?” Cordelia repeated, glaring, and then stopped herself. In a few minutes he would be leaving, and she would never see him again. She took a deep breath. “All right, then, Doctor. You can make it up to us by joining us for dinner.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner. With my children and my grandchildren.” She gripped Miles’s shoulder; he nodded, though Cordelia got the impression he’d much rather have thrown the Doctor out of the garden altogether.

“Well, I do have things to -”

Cordelia cleared her throat. “Doctor. Think of it as one last adventure.”

He stopped. He looked at her, eyes so old in a face so young, and smiled. “When you put it that way - yes, Cordelia. Thank you. One last adventure.”

 _Fin._


End file.
